Not happy with today,
nor excited by the next,
I know I should be positive,
but I’m already vexed.

It’s not a massive deal,
and I know I’ll be just fine,
but I hate having sold my day
for a price not worth my time.

And tomorrow, too,
will likely be the same,
unless I taste the moments
that in life are always game.

I only ever write a thing
to increase my rising power,
so I’ll do what I must do,
and spit out this mood that’s sour.

Type of Guy

I’m not the type of guy
that is like this or that.
I’m not that predictable;
I don’t just wear one hat.

I can tell you of my past,
and share with you my dreams,
but at the very best you could
extrapolate some themes.

To carelessly define me,
now that is just a shame,
for if you do it to the poet,
to yourself, you do the same.

Information is a thing
that is hard to simplify.
I like to be quite thorough,
but I’m not that type of guy.


Nature’s not my favorite thing;
I care not for the birds that sing.
I like the forest well enough,
but my mind’s on other stuff.

People, also, aren’t that great,
but most of them, I tolerate.
Some of them, I even treasure,
but I’m too far away to measure.

Thinking, though, now that’s my thing!
If my mind’s a kingdom, I am king.
I’m right at home, in my grand castle,
Nature and people can be a hassle.



Who asks more questions than I?
Not many,
if any,
and that’s why,

I should be the one to look,
into the contents
of this book.

This book that comes from some
unknown place to me
with words that crack
from front to back
and show me how to be.

The answers I have
are not absolutes;
They are merely stones to step with.

I have questions
and stepping boots,
and the water that surrounds me

is a myth.

Heart is Spent

I will be your ally, kid,
but I won’t be your slave.
I will give a flash of light,
but you must explore the cave.

I don’t know if you should,
or if it’s a waste of time,
but I do know that I would
if that cave was mine.

I’m here when you return;
you can tell me how it went,
but I don’t want to hear about it,
unless your heart is spent.

Who I Am


I love little more
than being who I am,
but I’ve been ashamed,
by failing your exam.

I chose multiple choices,
and answered false and true,
but none of me was in it
when I gave it back to you.

I guess I thought it proper
to astutely play my role,
and I stood there, dumb,
as the red pen marked the whole.

If I’d been thinking clearly,
and if I’d been brave enough,
I would have drawn across the page
all kinds of brilliant stuff.